


The hidden law of a probable outcome

by makesometime



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Boredom in Japan leads to some revelations and the like, Canon Asexual Character, Card Games, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Gambling, M/M, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25951387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: It’s a twitching, right under his skin, an unexplainable sort of energy that makes him think they’re on the brink of…somethingand he doesn’t like not knowing what. It's been days now, and worse when he's doing nothing.Sitting with Wilde and playing cards is barely enough distraction. If anything, the other man's presence makes it worse. More untenable.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 12
Kudos: 85





	The hidden law of a probable outcome

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm new to this fandom, though more than a little versed in general RQ IP at this point. Zolf/Wilde became one of those pairings I saw fic for early on in my time listening to RQG and wondered on the impetus for, and now unironically adore, having my own oh.... _oh_ moment about a week ago. Fic was an inevitable next step.
> 
> (Housekeeping: rated to be safe, nothing terribly saucy ahead; title from Shape of my Heart by Sting; Zolf is asexual but I am not so please, _please_ correct anything that seems wrong; this Oscar Wilde is entirely fictional and not based on the real man)

There’s been something in the air, since Carter arrived, which goes deeper than the unavoidable irritation of having the man around and on the cusp of being part of their crew.

It’s a twitching, right under his skin, an unexplainable sort of energy that makes him think they’re on the brink of… _something_ and he doesn’t like not knowing what. It's been days now, and worse when he's doing nothing. 

Sitting with Wilde and playing cards is barely enough distraction. If anything, the other man's presence makes it worse. More untenable. 

If he senses the same strangeness Wilde is unmoved by it, or damn good at acting like it (Zolf _knows_ the latter is just as possible). He rubs a finger over his scar - _absent-minded? or utterly calculated?_ \- and flicks his gaze up to catch Zolf looking.

A smirk, then he lays his cards face down and throws another two pebbles on the pile.

“Raise.”

Zolf used to be better at reading the other man. Even a few days ago he could tell when Wilde was fussing or worried or overly confident. The other man’s tells have become familiar like the weight of a weapon in his hand, but the weird energy in the place is obscuring quite how he should be taking them tonight.

He matches the bet and lays his hand out (not bad, not great), and waits for Wilde to do the same. There’s a flicker of something irritable in the other man’s eyes as he reveals his own cards and leans back from the table with a long, frustrated exhale.

Their cards are more or less evenly matched, though Zolf has slightly the better of it. With a sigh, he scoots the mess of gambled pebbles close to him and gathers up the cards to deal again.

“Are you bored?”

He doesn’t look up to respond. “Constantly. What of it?”

“I was thinking we might as well spice things up a little.” Wilde folds his hands over his stomach, wearing a fae, smug expression that reminds Zolf of their first meeting. 

It had annoyed the snot out of him then - that it makes him smirk in return now isn’t something that needs exploring.

“I’m not stripping for you, Oscar.” He mutters as he deals a hand to each of them. “So you better have another idea up your sleeve.”

The other man laughs so richly that it makes goosebumps rise on his forearms, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He rubs a hand there, frowning at the weight of Wilde’s interested gaze as he steadfastly refuses to further examine his body's response.

“What?”

Wilde smiles, peering at his cards. “Nothing. I particularly relished the chance to see where your mind went at my purely innocent suggestion.”

“Innocent?” He scoffs, hiding the disappointment of his cards in a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve not been innocent a day in your life.”

Wilde clutches a hand to his chest. “Zolf. You wound me. Such little faith.”

(He’s accusing the wrong dwarf of that at least, if nothing else.)

Zolf hums out a non-committal sound, decidedly not getting lost in observing Wilde’s face for some hint of the man’s opinion on his hand. He’s always been better at pretending to be impassive than Zolf can ever hope to manage.

“So what _were_ you getting at?”

“Betting something slightly more interesting than pebbles, Mr Smith.” Wilde says, tossing one of his stash into the middle regardless. “Chores, you know? _Favours_ , perhaps?”

Zolf's been alive a long time, and a sailor besides. He knows what that word paired with the sort of look Wilde is shooting him means. What startles him is to realise that his instinctual reaction isn’t to swear and scoff and walk off to fetch another drink.

No. He wants to _indulge_ the man. 

_Fuck._

If Wilde notices his hesitation, he chooses not to mention it. They've been dancing around exploring whatever it is that's building between them for weeks now, Oscar's newly quiet flirting as familiar as a warm blanket. It makes sense for Wilde to have got tired of it first, but at any other time Zolf might've said he looks _wary_ , apprehensive even, as he hides his mouth behind his glass for a moment too long, drums his fingers on his thigh.

“What did you have in mind?”

Wilde smiles and it’s like the sun coming out, a sight they haven’t seen in weeks. It warms him, makes him want to turn towards it like he used to on deck, lift his face and bask in its warmth… Zolf swallows a sigh and puts his own glass down, pushing it just out of reach. 

That’s clearly enough of that.

“Winner’s choice?”

“Best of three?”

With a nod, Wilde picks up another card. “Build the anticipation. I approve.”

"You're gonna be disappointed if you get your hopes up only to end up doing my weapon maintenance for the month."

Wilde laughs, tipping his chair back with the force of it. "I'll maintain your—."

" _Oscar_."

"Oh come now, you're no fun." The man honest-to-gods _pouts_ and Zolf has to chew on the inside of his cheek to stop words flooding out on a tide of sake and simmering _want_. 

The silence they fall into as they play is charged with every bet, every raise a goad and check a giving of ground. Zolf wins the first game, easy. The second takes longer than it has any right to, Wilde fumbling with the deck each time he has to draw a card, Zolf accidentally betting too much when shaking fingers gather too many little stones. 

It goes to a tiebreaker, because of course it does. Barnes walks in as they're in the middle of their hand, looks at the table with his mouth open to speak and reads _something_ in their air that makes his jaw snap shut and an enigmatic smile paint his features instead. 

(Bastard man. Absolute little shithead.)

It's almost worth it to lose to see the myriad expressions that flash over Oscar's face. Shock turns to disbelief to hunger to amusement and Zolf realises with a dull sense of resignation that the source of the antsy feeling in his gut wasn't due to Carter at all. 

Oh. 

Bugger. 

"Well, I do believe that's the game, Mr Smith."

"Yeah, yeah, well played or whatever." He grumbles. "Suppose you're going to get me to make a right fool of myself. Serves me right."

"Mm. Nothing of the sort I'm afraid." Wilde sighs, airy and wistful as he shakes his hair out of his face. "A kiss, nothing more."

He wears a look that says to Zolf that he's both pleased by the depths of his cleverness, and fearful that he might have overstepped. Zolf, for his part, feels a fluttering of baffled interest in his chest, nascent in a way that makes sense given his general lack of previous indulgence, or desire of doing so. 

But Oscar is _Oscar_ , undeniably and unabashedly. One of the only people in the entire godsdamn world that he knows he can trust, ridiculous as it sounds. A solid compatriot, a reliable friend. 

Of _course_ it was going to be Oscar. 

Nothing else makes a lick of sense. 

His chair produces an angry squawk as he shoves back from the table. Oscar jerks, but doesn't shift as Zolf rounds the table towards him. They're of a height, like this, and it makes it all the easier to reach out and cup the other man's cheek. 

Oscar sighs, a hint of relief clear in the softening of his gaze. Zolf slides his fingers back to play with the soft hair at the base of Oscar's skull, his thumb resting neatly at the strong line of his jaw. 

"C'mere then."

He doesn't so much as need to tug the man forward, Oscar leaning in with as much intent as Zolf does himself, their lips meeting on an exhale and a smile. 

Zolf allows the other man to lead, his own experience woefully limited in the face of Oscar's particular talents. It's easy to get swept up in the gentle sounds of Oscar's pleasure, the heat of his tongue and the weight of his hands as they settle over Zolf's hips. 

Zolf finds himself stifling a groan, opening his mouth to Oscar's gentle urging and slipping his free arm around the man's shoulders because hell if he's letting him go now. 

It's a physical ache to pull away, but for as long as he can hold his breath, Oscar is panting and shifting and unsteady with lightheaded need. He moves both hands to cradle the man's jaw, conscious of the width of his thighs pressing Oscar's apart with each inch of personal space he refuses to give up. 

"You are full of surprises." Oscar murmurs, kiss-drunk and other things besides. "I—." 

Zolf kisses him again before he can speak, certain that nothing he has to say will be better than the feel of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth. 

"I only asked for one kiss." He says when they part next. 

"That one's on me."

Oscar beams, rosy-cheeked and happier than he's looked in weeks. "Will I have to barter for every intimacy with you in future?" 

"That seems unnecessarily complicated." Zolf smirks, taking Oscar's hand and threading their fingers. "Hate to think how many wins I'd need for an invite to your room."

Oscar hums, tracing his fingertips over Zolf's cheekbone with a gentle reverence. "Normally I'd insist on dinner first, but for you, Zolf, I'll make an exception."


End file.
